“What I have done is of no matter. It is what we can do.”
“And how will you go about saving the city? What is your price?”
“I have no price for saving the fountain of all the wisdom on Makassar. I ask only what I will need. Weapons. Pikes and shields. Authority to recruit men. And I will have to inspect the soldiers, talk to the heavy cavalrymen. I will require a drill field to practice my men. And the men on Temple charity must be brought to it, so that they can be armed. I have no price, but I have much to do. We can save this city and the Temple if you will but listen.”
The priest spread his hands and looked intently at his palms. “Perhaps it is the will of God. There is no other plan. It can do no great harm to allow you to train this rabble, for when you and they are killed that will be all the longer our rations will last. I will see that you get what you need.”
* * *
An army formed gradually on the parade ground outside the Temple. It did not greatly resemble an army. In the first week the men had to be driven to the drill field; they stumbled through their paces, unable to understand orders and unwilling to work. But as they were given weapons and their training continued, a new sense of self-respect slowly pervaded the ragged group. Men who had recently been beggars found themselves alongside sturdy peasants from outside the walls, and mixed among them were younger sons of merchant families ruined by the siege. Under MacKinnie’s pleas and Stark’s driving, they began to hold their heads higher, to thrust their pikes into the target dummies, even to scream war cries. After the third week of training, MacKinnie called a conference.
“We don’t have long,” he told the group. “Sumbavu is anxious to know what we are doing, and I have to report to him. You want to be careful of that man. He’s a lot sharper than he looks or acts. What’s the status of our army?”
“The infantry’s so-so,” Hal reported. “The Temple troops are fine, but they don’t know what to do and they’re so sure of themselves they don’t want to learn anything new. The people’s army can carry pikes and hold up their shields if you don’t want them to do it for too long. Weak as cats, most of them. And we’ll never get any archers out of that crowd. The Temple’s got a fair number, and that’s all you’ll have.”
“Can they hold against a charge of light cavalry?” MacKinnie asked.
“Don’t know, sir. They’d never stop the heavy stuff, but they might hold against the plainsmen if they believed in themselves enough. But they have no confidence, Colonel.”
MacKinnie noticed Longway’s start at Hal’s slip, but said nothing. “What of the cavalry?” he asked Brett. “Can they fight in formation? Have they had enough of that cockiness beat out of them to make a disciplined force, or are they going to go charging out into the enemy and scatter?”
“Vanjynk and I have talked to them, Trader,” Brett replied. “But their honor is all they have left. Still, these are men who have been beaten before, and after all, it is only barbarians they fight. … But it will be difficult to call them back from victory.”
“You’ll have to,” MacKinnie said. “It’s the only chance any of us have. Those men have to be taught to charge home, form ranks again, and get back to the shield walls. Any of them that try the grandstand act will be left out there dead. Try to drive that elementary fact through their heads. And add to it the fact that if they’re killed their city falls and the whole honor system they’re so proud of goes with it. They’re fighting to preserve their honor.”
“Yes, but by means which to them are dishonorable,” Vanjynk said. “They listen to me as one of them, and I have faithfully told them what you desire. I have even come to believe it. But it is strange to them.”
MacKinnie nodded. “Strange or not, they’ll have to learn. Now what about the commissary department?”
Mary Graham smiled proudly. “That’s in good shape,” she said. “We have enough wagons now.”
“I thought we were short of animals,” MacKinnie said.
“We are, but they were hitching them all wrong,” Graham said. “They were using leather straps. I had the carpenters make proper collars from wood, and now the horses don’t tire as much. We still don’t have enough, but the ones we have can carry more.”
“Good.”
“We have the wagons, but not much grain,” she continued. “If you can protect our baggage trains, we can supply your men for a few days. There won’t be a lot to eat, but something. After that, we’ll have to find forage outside. We might even be able to harvest some grain if our farmers are protected.”
“So we have a partially disciplined force of infantry, some cavalry who may be useful and may not, some Temple archers and guardsmen who are our best soldiers but don’t understand what’s needed, and one whole hell of a lot of barbarians. An interesting situation.” He thought for a few moments, staring down at a copy of Sumbavu’s map young Todd had laboriously made, then came to a decision.
“We need a demonstration. I’ll give each of you a week to select the best men you can, men you think won’t break and run and who will obey orders. I’ll need provisions for about two days for twice that number of people, and a group of your best-disciplined cooks and camp workers,” he added to Mary. “We’re going to make a show of force against the enemy. The primary purpose will be to convince our own troops that we can beat barbarians.” He stood, dismissing the meeting. “Hal, stay with me for a moment, please.”
When the others had left, Stark said, “Sorry about the slip, Colonel. It’s too much like a campaign, and I’m not used to being a spy.”
“We’ll survive. Have you picked the headquarters group?”
“Yes, sir. Using the troops we brought with us as a steadying force we’ve got a pretty loyal company. I think they’d fight the Temple people for us if they thought they could win. Anyway we can control them. You lead them to a victory, they’ll be ours for sure.”
“Excellent. We must have that headquarters group, or when this is over there won’t be any point to it all. All right, Sergeant, you can go.”
Hal stood, grinned for a moment, and saluted. “Old times, Colonel. Different Wolves, but old times.”
* * *
MacKinnie carefully armed himself before visiting Sumbavu. He struggled into chain mail, threw a bright crimson cloak over his shoulders, donned gold bracelets and necklace, and fastened his surplice with a jeweled pin before buckling on a sword made on Prince Samual’s World. The mail and sword were similar in design to Makassar products, but better than anything they had encountered on Makassar. Their possession imparted considerable status to MacKinnie’s group. Sumbavu was standing at the battlements above his cell when MacKinnie was brought to him.
“You betray true colors, Trader,” the priest said. “You are more the soldier than the Trader, are you not?”
“In the south, Father, Traders and soldiers are the same thing. At least live Traders are. There’s little peace there.”
“Or here. It was not always thus.” The warrior-priest looked out across the great plain beyond the city wall. “There are more of them today. The grain is ready for harvest, and they are formed to protect it from our fire parties. We could burn the crop, but only at the cost of the balance of our knights. I do not think any would return to us alive.”
“Yet, there may be a way, Father,” MacKinnie said. When the priest glanced quickly at him, he continued, “I wish to take a small party outside the walls. We will not go far.”
“You may take as many of your useless mouths as you please. You have made them march with their heads up, but they are not soldiers. They will never be soldiers.”
“I need more than my peasants,” MacKinnie said. “I will require fifty archers of the Temple and fifty mounted men.”
“A fourth part of the archers? And nearly as great a part of the knights? You are mad. I will not permit it.”
“Yet, Father, it is worth doing. We will show you how the barbarians can be defeated. And we will not go far from the wal
ls. The archers and knights can seek shelter there if my men do not hold — and there can be no loss of honor if they retreat because others failed them.”
“Where will you be?”
“With the spearmen at the van.”
“You risk your life to prove these men? You believe, then. Strange.”
MacKinnie looked across the plains, to see another band of barbarians approach the walls. There seemed to be hundreds in the one group alone.
“You will take your men into that,” Sumbavu said. “You will not come out alive.”
“But if we do? It will put heart in the others. Remember, if we do nothing, the Temple is doomed.”
“Yet if you slaughter my archers and knights the doom will fall faster. …” The priest studied the camps below, watching knots of horsemen dart toward the walls, then turn away just outside the range of the archers at the walls. He fingered his emblem, a golden temple with an ebony-black cross surmounting it, and turned suddenly.
“Do as you will. You are mad, but there are those who believe the mad have inspiration from God. It is certain that I have none.” Sumbavu turned and stalked away, age showing in the set of his shoulders.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
THE WALKING WALL
MacKinnie used a week training the picked men for the sally. Finally Hal reported that they were as ready as they could be in the time they had, and assembled them in the marshaling square just inside the gates. His cloak streaming behind him, Nathan mounted the small dais near the gates to address the men.
“You will win today a victory such as has never been seen on this world,” he shouted. “There will be no end to the songs of this day. Your homes will be saved, and you will come to glory. Besides, what life is there huddled behind walls? What man hides from his enemies when he can go out and kill them? Today you are all men. You will never be slaves again.”
There was a feeble cheer, led by Hal’s picked guardsmen scattered through the ranks.
“It’ll have to do,” Nathan told his sergeant. “They won’t believe much of anything until they see they can hold the enemy. But will they fight long enough to find out?”
“Don’t know, Colonel,” Stark answered. “We’ve done all we could with them, but most of the spirit was beat out of them before we got here. They might.”
“They know what to do,” MacKinnie said. “Now it’s up to us to make them do it. Get them in ranks and open the gate.”
“Yes, sir.”
The army was formed as a wedge, spear and shield soldiers at the edges, the cavalry, archers, and supply wagons inside. Picked men held the point, which was rounded to be as wide as the gate would permit. They were to march out in a column, with the sides moving swiftly on the obliques to make the triangular formation they had practiced on the Temple drill field. The crimson uniforms of the Temple archers and the gaily colored armor of the knights formed a brilliant contrast to the drab leather garments of the pikemen as they stood in ranks waiting for the gate to open. Wherever possible, the men in ranks wore breastplates, helmets, greaves, but there were not enough to equip them all. Some had only spear and shield, with a small dagger in their belts.
MacKinnie looked over his force in final inspection. He swallowed the hard knot that always formed in his stomach before action, and wondered if any soldier ever managed to avoid that tension. Then he waved, and the gate opened.
“Move out!” Stark shouted. “Keep your order. Just like on the drill field. Get in step, there.”
Young drummers scattered through the reserves tapped cadence as the small force sallied out the gate. When enough of the spearmen had emerged to form a shield wall, MacKinnie sent out the cavalry, then strode swiftly through them to reach his post near the point of the formation.
They formed ranks within the protective fire of the archers on the walls. A few of the barbarians charged toward them, but were cut down before they could reach the sallying force. The rest of the enemy stayed well out of range, watching, while thousands more rode swiftly toward the gate.
“Lot of them out there,” Stark remarked. “Looks like all of them. Too bad you don’t have another sally set up for the other gate.”
“There’s few enough troops here,” MacKinnie muttered. He was grimly watching as the last of the army emerged from the gates and swung across to form the base of the wedge. “All right, Hal, move them out.”
Stark signaled to the drummers. The cadence changed, and a drum signal echoed down the line. The men ceased to mark time and slowly marched forward, shields held level, spears thrust forward. Behind each shieldsman were two ranks of pikemen. They marched across the gently rolling plain toward the nearest enemy camp, too intent on looking ahead to know when they had left the range of the protective fire of the city walls.
The maris circled, always keeping their distance, inviting them to come away from the walls. Individual barbarians galloped toward the formation, then wheeled to ride away. They slapped their buttocks in contempt.
The individual riders changed to small groups. Then more gathered just beyond bow-shot. They moved slowly towards MacKinnie.
“Here comes the first bunch,” Stark shouted. “They’re going right around to hit young Todd’s section. Put the archers on them?”
“Two squads, Hal. Let the others fire at high angle to keep the rest away. Todd’s men can hold that group.”
“Yes, sir.”
Volleys of bolts shot from the Temple archers, cutting some of the enemy from their wooden saddles. Then the first barbarians hurtled toward the shield line, not in a wave but in scattered groups.
Before they made contact, Todd shouted orders. The drum cadence changed, and the line of men sank to one knee, spears grounded, the pikemen thrusting over their heads. The maris galloped closer, shouting, cheering.
A barbarian mare screamed as she was impaled on a spear. Other beasts whirled from the thicket of points, getting in the way of men charging behind them, stumbling within range of the thrusting pikes, until the barbarian group was milling in front of the right leg of MacKinnie’s wedge. Archers poured fire into the mass of men and beasts. The enemy shouted defiance, broke against the shield wall again, again.
“They flee, they flee!” someone shouted.
“After them!” MacKinnie heard.
“Hold your positions!” MacKinnie shouted. “By the Temple God, I’ll have the archers cut down the first man that breaks rank! Brett, keep those damned knights of yours under control!”
“Yes, sir,” he heard from among the cavalry in the center of the wedge. The knights were milling about, anxious to give chase to the fleeing enemy. The maris thundered away, wheeled to shout defiance again, then rode off when no one followed.
When calm returned, MacKinnie mounted a wagon. “You’ve driven off one small group. It wasn’t much of a battle, but you see it can be done. Now don’t let them make fools of you. If you break formation or leave the shield wall, they’ll be all over you. Stand to ranks and you’ll slaughter them. Remember, every man’s life depends on each of you. No one may break, not for cowardice, and not for glory. And by God, raise a cheer!”
This time the response was great. As MacKinnie climbed down from the wagon, he saw the driver for the first time: small, dressed in chain mail, and shouting at the top of her lungs.
“Freelady!” he called. “You have no business here.”
“You gave me the commissary to organize, Colonel. I have done it. There was no one here fit to command my ragtag group, and I will not have my word undone by incompetents. Your sergeant himself dismissed that oaf from the Temple who tried to drive my men like slaves.”
He looked at her and remembered another freelady who had been headstrong, but shook the thought from his mind. Laura hadn’t really been like Mary Graham. It was hard to imagine Laura in armor — although she might well have carried a sword. Graham’s was on the wagon box next to her. As Nathan studied his ward, one of the commissary troops came up. The cook fingered an enormous
meat axe.
“You leave the lady alone,” the burly man said. “She’s a saint from heaven. You touch her, and commander or not, you die.”
“Sumba, thank you, but I don’t need protection,” Mary protested. “At least not from him.”
“That’s all right, my lady, we’ll watch them all,” the stocky cook said. MacKinnie shrugged and returned to organize the battle.
The group marched forward again, the drums measuring a slow beat. From time to time a group of the enemy would gallop toward them, firing arrows, only to be driven away by the Temple archers. The barbarians’ stubby bows were useless against even the leather of the unarmored men until they came to close range, and they did not dare come very close.
“They’ll re-form for another try,” MacKinnie said softly. “This time they’ll try a mass charge with everything they’ve got.”
Stark nodded. “The men have some confidence now, Colonel. I think they’ll hold. It was a good thing, their trying a small attack at first.”
“Clan rivalry,” Longway said from behind them. “I’ve seen it on South Continent. Each clan wants to be the first to remove the insult of your presence. But they’ll be back.”
“Night’s what worries me,” Stark said. “We going to stay out here all night?”
MacKinnie nodded. “The whole point of this demonstration is to build up the morale of the troops back in the city. Just moving out and coming back won’t do any good. We have to have a solid victory.”
“I still do not see what we are accomplishing,” Longway said. “Suppose you prove that you can take the field against the barbarians and move about in formations they can’t break. All they have to do is avoid you.”
“We’ll cross that one later,” MacKinnie muttered. “Here they come, Hal. Get the men ready.”
A flood of the enemy galloped toward them across the low plain.
King David's Spaceship (codominion) Page 17
